UUSB   LIBRARY  '        »H, 


Jleto  Pebforb 
jf  it  tp  gears! 


Recollection*  bt> 
iflaub  i^enba 
1914 


THK     I-MM  ENDS'    MEETING     HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

my  grandmother's  quiet  sitting  room 
hung  a  picture  entitled  ''New  Bedford 
Fifty  Years  ago,"  which  held  my  childish 
fancy.  Now,  after  another  half-century 
there  appears  on  the  walls  of  my  memory  another 
picture  bearing  the  same  title. 

Last  year  a  New  York  paper  gave  much 
space  to  a  controversy  as  to  whether  Jonathan 
Bourne,  the  ex-Senator  from  Oregon,  (one  of 
the  boys  playing  marbles  in  my  picture)  was 
called  Jack  or  Johnny  in  his  youth.  A  woman 
added  her  say,  with  cruel  sarcasm,  asserting  that 
he  was  plain  Johnny,  and  mighty  plain  at  that. 
But  she  called  up  delightful  reminiscences  of  the 
drives  around  the  Point  Road,  up  to  the  Head 
of  the  River  and  back  across  Fairhaven  bridge. 
Of  the  Fourth  of  July  celebrations  on  the  Com- 
mon, and  the  afternoon  and  evening  circus  on 
Pope's  Island.  Of  the  delights  of  Arnold's  Gar- 
den; of  Polly  Johnson's  candy  shop  on  Seventh 
street,  with  its  toothsome  ginger  cookies,  sticks 
of  candy  and  spruce  gum.  Of  picnics  on  the 
rocks  at  Fort  Phoenix,  and  in  the  grove  at 
My  ricks,  all  of  which  are  seen  in  my  own  picture. 
There  are  some  quaint  characters  on  its  streets. 
Old  Daddy  Bowman  with  his  tin-pail  of  sticks  of 


6  XFAV     BEDFORD     FIFTY     YEARS     AGO 

home-made  molasses  candy.  He  quite  upset  the 
gravity  of  a  religious  meeting  by  arising,  and  in 
all  seriousness  reciting: 

"The  boys  the  treacherous  ice  did  trust, 
First  it  cracked  and  then  it  bust." 

Billy  White  (who  was  very  black)  and  his  pig, 
familiar  figures,  who  also  gained  prominence  in 
Sunday  School  circles,  when  the  little  girl  who 
was  asked  if  she  had  ever  seen  a  shepherd  with 
his  sheep,  replied  promptly:  "Oh,  yes,  she  saw 
one  every  day,  Billy  White  and  his  pig!" 

Simple  Jimmie  Dyer,  the  wood-sawyer,  of 
whom  a  housekeeper  told  this  story.  She  had 
employed  him  for  the  day,  and  after  giving  him 
his  dinner,  she  was  obliged  to  go  out,  so  left  his 
supper  for  him.  He  ate  it  immediately  on  her 
departure,  and  went  home,  declaring  he  never 
yet  had  worked  after  supper. 

Adelaide  Goodale  was  another  curious  char- 
acter, who  sometimes  wore  a  hat  and  a  bonnet  at 
the  same  time,  the  former  perched  on  top.  She 
had  the  most  nasal  of  twangs,  and  kept  a  thread 
and  needle  store  and  a  few  "sweeties"  on  Third 
street.  One  winter  the  doctor  advised  her  to  take 
cod  liver  oil,  but  she  told  him  that  she  fried  her 
cakes  in  candle  grease  and  stood  over  the  smoke, 
and  guessed  that  was  just  as  good  and  a  deal 
cheaper. 


Ni:\V     BEDFORD     FIFTY     YEARS     AGO  7 

CHAPTER  II. 

chief  of  winter  sports  in  the  New  Bed- 
ford  of  fifty  years  ago  was  the  coasting 
down  Bush  street  hill,  enlivened  by  the 
cry  of  of  "horse  comin,"  at  the  cross 
streets.  The  finest  sleds  belonged  to  Captain 
Seabury  and  Henry  Howland,  the  young  colored 
man  whom  we  children  called  the  "contraband," 
altho'  we  had  no  notion  of  its  meaning. 

I  was  a  girl  of  nine,  when  in  the  fall  of  1868  the 
election  contest  between  Grant  and  Coif  ax  against 
Seymour  and  Blair  took  place.  In  Republican 
New  Bedford  I  soon  became  a  stanch  convert  to 
that  faith,  altho'  my  New  York  father  was  a 
Democrat,  a  detested  "copperhead."  This  fact 
I  never  acknowledged  to  my  playmates  as  it 
would  have  meant  social  ostracism. 

After  the  election  New  Bedford  went  wild  with 
joy,  and  the  city  was  ablaze  with  excitement, 
torch  light  processions,  and  illuminated  houses, 
candles  being  displayed  in  each  sash  pane  of  the 
windows,  and  I  was  allowed  to  sit  up  until  half- 
past  nine  o  'clock !  So  enthusiastic  was  I  over 
"our"  victor}'  that  I  wrote  an  exulting  letter  to 
my  "dear  defeated  Dad"  illuminating  its  pages 
with  pictures  of  the  torches  and  the  windows  of 
the  houses,  most  effectively  touched  up  with 
splashes  of  red  and  yellow  crayon.  I  even  called 
him  (on  paper)  a  "D.  0.  D."  without  conception 
that  the  polite  political  phrase  meant  a  "darned 
old  Democrat." 

Our  summer  pleasure  we  took  at  Fort  Phoenix. 
From  the  days  of  barefooted  frolic  in  the  water, 


8  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEA'.iS     Add 

to  the  "spooning"  on  the  moonlit  rocks,  we  have 
loved  thee,  dear  old  Fort  Phoenix!  Our  names 
are  among  the  hieroglyphics  on  the  beacon,  and 
many  gorgeous  sunsets  have  we  viewed  from  that 
point  of  rocks ! 

Often  did  we  yearn  for  the  delight  of  paddling 
in  the  water  there,  when  we  were  not  the 
possessors  of  the  necessary  "toll"  over  the  ferry 
or  across  the  bridge.  But  by  removing  our  shoes 
and  stockings  we  could  stealthily  wade  back  of 
the  toll-house,  reappearing  on  the  bridge  at  a 
safe  distance  beyond,  and  continue  blithely  on 
our  way. 

The  large  rocks  in  the  meadows  on  Allen  street 
made  another  delightful  playground,  and  a  short 
cut  was  over  the  tipping,  slippery  plank  laid 
across  the  mill  pond  at  Bedford  street.  The  mill 
stream  ran  heavy  and  high  during  the  spring  and 
autumn  rains,  and  although  our  elders  advised 
the  longer  and  safer  route  by  the  streets,  yet  with 
the  obstinacy  observed  in  the  children  of  50  years 
ago,  we  persisted  in  crossing  the  dangerous  mill 
pond. 

Never  since  has  it  rained  as  hard  as  in  those 
"line  gales"  when  the  mighty  elms  "against  a 
stormy  sky,  their  giant  branches  tossed,"  and  the 
streets  ran  like  rivers.  With  rubber  boots  and 
water  proof  cloaks,  lined  with  red,  the  hoods 
fastened  closely  around  our  chubby  faces,  we  beat 
our  way  to  the  wharves,  and  on  the  rafts  back  of 
the  old  fish  markets,  where  *  'breaking  waves 
dashed  high,"  we  sought  and  found  adventure, 
with  a  thrill  akin  to  that  felt  by  Mayflower  an- 
cestors, and  our  grandfather  whalers. 


NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEAftS    AGO 

Peaceful  Arnold's  Garden,  the  antithesis  of 
roaring  storm  and  breaking  wave,  claimed  for  us 
a  fascination  with  the  odd  grotto  of  twisted  trees, 
lined  with  shells,  taken  from  caverns  of  many  a 
deep  sea.  The  brilliant  flower  beds,  and  box  bor- 
dered walks,  the  peach  trees  trained  to  grow  on 
flat  trellises,  the  old  oak  tree  at  the  entrance, 
surrounded  by  " Arnold's  Bank''  a  mound  which 
we  told  each  other  in  awesome  whipsers  covered 
the  bones  of  dead  Indians. 

On  the  lawn  was  held  the  yearly  festival  of 
Charles  White's  dancing  class,  a  band  of  fairies 
who  glided  hither  and  thither  and  escorted  their 
queen  in  her  chariot.  Many  of  these  fairies  are 
now  sedate  and  stately  grandmothers  with  no 
suggestion  of  fairy-like  grace  and  pose. 

The  handsome  fairy-queen  Alice  Warwick  Slo- 
cum,  afterward  became  a  preacher  in  the  Friends ' 
Society  with  her  mother  Phebe  Akin  Slocum. 
Each  summer  the  Friends  First  Day  School  held 
its  outing  in  Rachel  Rowland's  grove  on  the 
Point  road.  Why  did  we  never  call  it  Matthew 
Rowland's!  The  rich  cadence  of  her  voice  as 
she  prayed  in  meetings  I  can  hear  now,  and  the 
sanctified  teachings  of  Annie  Wood,  Susan  How- 
land,  Sarah  Holmes  and  Susan  Taber  are  still 
remembered. 

Tell  me  is  New  Bedford  now  honored  with  any 
such  dear  saintly  old  ladies! 


10  XK\V     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEAKS    AGO 

CHAPTER  III. 

FTER  the  garrulous  fashion  of  middle- 
aged  and  elderly  people,  who  have  ob- 
tained a  listener,  I  shall  "  begin  at  the 
beginning,"  which  with  me  was  the  sew- 
ing-society (afterward  called  the  Barclay)  held 
at  the  Abraham  H.  Howland  house  on  County 
street  in  the  winter  of  1863.  His  daughter,  Alice, 
sweet-faced  and  gentle,  was  our  teacher  in  the 
Friends'  First  Day  School,  and  tiny  tots  though 
we  were,  most  industriously  did  our  wee  fingers 
pick  the  lint  for  the  wounds  of  the  soldiers  in  the 
hospitals  at  the  south. 

In  Widow  Gerrish's  Private  School  on  Seventh 
street,  between  Bush  and  Walnut  streets,  at  four 
years  of  age,  with  my  little  sewing-bag  of  patch- 
work-pieces and  a  primer,  I  became  a  pupil,  and 
on  stormy  days  the  ebony,  motherly  arms  of 
Betsey  Blackburn  (then  our  cook)  carried  me 
thither.  Does  anyone  now  remember  Betsey? 
Some  things  else  we  learned  in  that  quaint 
little  school  besides  spelling  and  patchwork! 
The  little  boy  in  the  next  seat  smuggled 
me  a  note  carefully  printed  on  blue  paper 
and  folded  in  many  creases  that  the  tender  mes- 
sage might  not  escape. 

"Beautiful  Maud, 
Wilt  thou  be  mine?" 

I  was  not  "beautiful,"  being  tow-haired  and 
freckled,  and  that  adjective  has  never  since  been 
applied  to  me  the  fifty  ensuing  years,  which  per- 
haps is  one  reason  I  have  cherished  that  tiny  slip 
of  paper. 


NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO  11 

The  next  May,  the  little  lover  hung  me  a  May- 
basket,  and  eating  through  its  sweets  I  found  two 
pennies  wrapped  in  paper.  A  later  inquiry 
brought  this  solution :  His  mother  had  given  him 
ten  cents  and  after  buying  all  the  basket  would 
hold  he  had  conscientiously  put  in  the  change. 
Often  have  I  wondered  if  this  strict  sense  of  hon- 
esty continues  through  his  life. 

From  Mrs.  Gerrish's  we  advance  to  the  Bush 
Street  School,  where  Miss  Maria  Bailey  (with 
curls  the  envy  of  us  all)  and  Miss  Mary  Allen, 
held  kindly  sway.  Here  we  were  initiated  into 
the  mystery  and  delicacy  of  the  combination  of 
spruce  gum  with  rubber  "chewed  in."  After  the 
ingredients  were  well  mixed,  it  was  considered  a 
token  of  good-will  to  pass  around  bits  to  our 
chosen  chums.  And  this  without  a  thought  of  the 
myriad  of  germs,  microbes  and  bacilli  standing 
on  their  horrified  hind  legs!  Happy  pre-microbic 
age! 

When  we  attained  William  Street  School  we 
added  to  this  the  diet  of  pickled  limes  and  two- 
cent  pickles  from  the  Union  Store,  wrapped  in 
coarse  brown  paper  that  soon  became  a  part  of 
the  juicy  fruit  itself,  and  was  swallowed  with  it ! 
Here  we  were  under  the  sterner  rule  of  Miss 
Savery,  and  who  remembers  her  peculiar  pun- 
ishment for  whisperers!  She  would  summon  the 
culprit  before  her,  and  order  him  to  face  the 
school.  Then  from  her  position  on  the  raised 
platform,  she  would  tip  back  his  head  and  slap 
his  lips  with  her  fingers.  Of  course,  it  didn't  hurt, 
but  the  humiliation  broke  up  the  habit  among  the 
boys,  but  the  girls  whispered  on  to  the  end ! 


12  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS     AGO 

Miss  Savery  inspired  her  scholars  with  a  zeal 
for  knowledge,  and  the  inspiration  to  make  the 
most  of  one's  opportunity  for  learning.  As  a  re- 
sult of  this  let  me  add  as  a  personal  experience 
that  in  a  year  of  her  training  I  achieved  more  than 
in  two  years  of  New  York  schooling.  Particularly 
did  she  require  of  us  a  clear  distinct  tone  in  read- 
ing, and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  history  and 
mathematics. 

Our  wits,  seeking  a  diversion,  were  led  to  the 
making  of  rhymes,  coupling  the  names  of  boys 
and  girls  that  sounded  well  together,  whether  any 
sentiment  existed  or  not.  Like  this: 

"All  the  animals  marched  into  the  Ark, 
George    Brownell    to   Hester   Clark." 

These  couplets  were  scribbled  on  the  ever  present 
board  fences,  that  "all  might  read  who  ran." 
Yielding  one  day  to  the  poetic  fever  I  coupled 
Miss  Savery 's  name  with  that  of  the  handsomest 
man  on  the  school  board,  and  in  the  blackest  of 
graphite  inscribed  my  tribute  on  a  newly-painted 
fence.  So  vain  was  I  of  my  poetic  effusion  that 
I  repeated  it  as  our  family  sat  down  to  supper. 
Swift  and  sudden  was  my  descent  from  the  Delect- 
able Mountain  of  Conceit  to  the  Slough  of  Des- 
pond. In  that  unaccountable  view  taken  by  our 
elders,  of  actions  especially  "cute"  as  we  see 
them,  I  was  sent  forth  in  all  haste,  armed  with  a 
wet  cloth  and  a  bar  of  yellow  soap  to  cleanse  off 
every  letter,  and  supperless  went  I  to  bed. 

The  yard  of  the  Friends'  Meeting  House, 
Spring  and  Seventh  streets,  was  especially  attrac- 
tive to  a  certain  crowd  of  the  William  street 


NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEAKS    AGO  13 

scholars,  but  this  was  a  forbidden  playground 
and  therefore  the  most  desirable!  Added  to  the 
fun  of  scaling  the  high  fence  and  dropping  off, 
was  the  excitement  of  constant  expectancy  of 
being  ''chased  out." 

Let  us  stroll  thro'  Seventh  street  from  the 
"Cherry  Lane"  end.  First  is  the  house  of  Capt. 
John  A.  Macomber,  on  the  Bush  street  corner, 
known  for  its  hospitality.  Capt.  Merrill's  house 
on  the  next  corner  was  to  my  childish  imagination 
the  castle  which  held  the  ogre  of  fairy-land  tales. 
Trying  one  day  to  reach  a  fragrant  rose  which 
grew  close  to  the  fence,  he  suddenly  appeared  and 
in  a  voice  of  thunder  (like  old  ogres)  and  in  lan- 
guage unheard  before  by  my  horrified  ears, 
threatened  dire  punishment.  For  a  year  there- 
after I  crept  by  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 
Sweet-faced  Susan  Howland  lived  in  her  widow- 
hood, and  Caleb  Kempton  and  his  wife  Lovey,  on 
the  other  two  corners  of  Walnut  street.  Set  far 
back  from  the  street  was  the  quaint  house  of 
Phebe  Mendall.  Does  the  name  suggest  memories 
of  sponge  cake  "light  as  ocean  foam/'  of  sym- 
metrical little  pound  cakes,  with  a  dome  of  the 
whitest  frosting,  and  luscious  fruit-cake  incased 
in  walls  of  snowy  sweetness?  In  dainty  lace  cap 
and  kerchief,  using  the  plain  language  of  the 
Friends,  she  lived  her  quiet  simple  life.  Sixth  in 
direct  descent  from  John  Cooke  and  Sarah  War- 
ren, whose  fathers  Francis  Cooke  and  Richard 
Warren  were  all  of  "Mayflower"'  fame,  she  was 
authority  on  all  questions  of  genealogy,  and  in 
many  a  household  the  puzzling  controversy  was 
settled  by  "Ask  Phebe  Mendall,  she  knows!" 


14  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO 

Capt.  Dan'l  Wood,  then  the  prim  Congdon  sis- 
ters lived  next,  and  opposite  the  Slocums,  and  on 
the  corner  of  School  street,  Capt.  Luce,  especially 
favored  by  heaven  because  his  house  was  of  brick ! 
The  Widow  West,  the  Thorntons  and  the  Macys 
lived  on  the  east  side,  and  on  the  west,  Polly  John- 
son hobbled  about  her  little  candy  shop  exchang- 
ing the  children's  pennies  for  Jackson-balls  and 
John  Brown's  bullets.  At  the  Union  street  end, 
Dr.  Abbe  lived  before  he  moved  to  the  fine  house 
on  County  street  built  by  Sylvanus  Thomas.  He 
looked  down  this  vista  of  over-hanging  elms  which 
shaded  the  "Annals  of  a  Quiet  Neighborhood." 


SKVKXTIf     ST  HEIST. 


"Time  is  a  tide  that  ebbs  in  vain, 
Whose  warnings,  love  and  life  defy; 

Space,  but  a  curtain  rent  in  twain 
By  the  strong  hand  of  memory ; 

While  we  in  thought  can  tread  again 
The  pleasant  paths  of  days  gone  by. ' ' 


PART  TWO. 


"SUMMERS  OF  AULD  LANG  SYNE." 
CHAPTER  I. 

n  be  "born  and  reared"  in  New  Bedford 
was  to  my  childish  fancy  the  acme  of  all 
human  happiness.  It  was  my  greatest 
affliction,  that  unfortunate  fate  which 
made  New  York  my  birthplace  instead  of  New 
Bedford.  There  are  some  misfortunes  in  life  we 
can  live  down,  and  after  forty  years  that  does 
not  seem  an  insurmountable  barrier  to  happiness ! 
But  in  1870,  when  at  eleven  years  of  age  it  was 
decided  that  school-days  in  New  Bedford  were  at 
an  end,  and  I  was  to  return  to  my  home  and  the 
schools  of  New  York,  no  greater  calamity  could 
I  conceive.  My  woe  was  somewhat  assuaged  with 
the  promise  that  all  my  summer  vacations  should 
be  spent  in  New  Bedford,  and  for  more  than  ten 
years  the  pledge  was  kept. 

That  first  year  in  New  York  as  the  time  drew 
near  to  close  school,  the  days,  even  the  hours  were 
counted  before  we  should  set  sail  for  the  Promised 
Land.  On  the  Friday  afternoon  that  ended  the 
term,  father  took  us  over  to  the  Fall  River  boat, 
my  sister  and  self,  and  entrusted  us  to  the  care  of 
the  captain,  whom  we  knew.  We  were  immensely 


16  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO 

proud  of  traveling  alone,  and  regarded  our  two 
diminutive  selves  as  the  most  important  person- 
ages on  the  steamer,  and  when  a  white-haired, 
benevolent  looking  old  gentleman,  with  head 
slightly  to  one  side  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  (Mr. 
James  B.  Congdon)  inquired  ''Are  these  little 
ladies  traveling  all  alone?"  our  pride  was  at  its 
height. 

Tucked  away  on  the  tiny  shelves  of  our  state- 
room, we  could  scarcely  sleep  for  the  happiness 
that  we  were  approaching  with  every  turn  of  the 
paddle-wheel,  and  the  groaning  and  creaking  of 
the  machinery  was  music  to  us.  Hurriedly  we 
dressed  and  without  breakfast  in  the  morning  we 
boarded  the  dingy  Old  Colony  railroad  train- 
but  there  our  hurry  ended,  as  everybody  knows, 
familiar  with  the  slow  travel  of  that  road.  Side- 
tracked at  Taunton,  switched  off  at  Myricks,  we 
finally  steamed  in  to  the  grimy  Egyptian  struc- 
ture, the  North  Depot. 

''Bishop's  Bedroom''  was  our  choice  of  hacks, 
although  in  later  years  when  the  vanity  of  young 
ladyhood  was  manifest,  we  transferred  our  alle- 
giance to  the  more  stylish  conveyance  driven  by 
Charlie  Fleetwood.  But  "Bishop's  Bedroom'' 
was  our  first  love  and  our  trunk  was  hoisted  on 
the  rack  with  a  thud  that  sent  us  bouncing  from 
the  leather  cushions. 

The  excitement  of  that  early  morning  ride  thro ' 
those  quiet  beloved  streets !  We  tried  to  be  lady- 
like and  demure,  but  the  sight  of  a  familiar  face 
would  bring  two  eager  faces  and  four  wildly 
swinging  arms  out  of  the  hack  window.  It  was 
too  early  for  many  of  our  young  contemporaries 


NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO  17 

to  be  abroad;  but  we  saw  Billy  White  with  his 
ridiculous  high  hat  and  wheel-barrow  of  swill,  the 
modern  ''garbage"  was  then  unknown,  perhaps 
Asa  Dyer,  the  "Admiral  of  the  Clam  Digging 
Fleet,"  on  his  way  for  a  day's  fishing,  or  Martha 
Billings  simpering  along,  or  Abner  Davis  with 
rake  and  hoe,  a  talkative  soul  who  knew  every- 
thing and  everybody  and  always  called  President 
Grant,  "United  States  Grant";  or  slow  going 
Seth  Booth  on  his  deliberate  daily  rounds  deliver- 
ing milk  (we  often  wondered  how  he  ever  finished 
one  day  in  time  to  begin  the  next),  or  a  store- 
keeper unlocking  his  shop,  as  we  rattled  and 
bounced  over  the  cobbles  of  Purchase  street,  and 
glad  were  we  to  turn  off  on  the  smooth  roadway 
of  Union  street. 

After  an  excitable  breakfast  we  rushed  over  to 
apprise  our  aunts  and  cousins  of  our  joyous  ar- 
rival, and  then  we  must  go  down  street  to  the 
store  folks  at  Richmond's  bakery  and  to  the 
Union  Store  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Bliss  and 
Mr.  Brownell  and  "Shube"  Smith.  We  were  so 
immensely  elated  over  our  arrival  in  town,  that 
we  were  greatly  chagrined  if  we  did  not  meet  a 
corresponding  enthusiasm.  Down  to  Hawes'  Ice 
Cream  Saloon  on  Purchase  street  and  then  to  be 
received  by  Mr.  Hutchinson's  bland  and  benign 
smile.  We  were  omnivorous  readers,  our  thirst 
for  knowledge  was  second  only  to  that  for  ice 
cream,  so  Mr.  Hutchinson  was  certain  of  a  small 
but  steady  revenue  during  our  stay.  This  recalls 
that  our  books 'were  always  in  need  of  exchange 
Saturday  evenings,  the  only  excuse  which  ever 
gained  for  us  permission  to  go  down-street  after 


18  NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO 

supper,  and  oddly  enough  there  always  appeared 
at  the  same  time  a  group  of  boys  from  the  south 
end  of  the  city,  on  the  same  laudable  errand ! 

That  first  Saturday  afternoon  we  must  explore 
the  meadows  on  Allen  street  for  the  brook,  and 
the  familiar  rocks  where  we  played  house,  the 
pantry  of  which  was  stocked  with  Mother  Jenks ' 
doughnuts  and  ginger-cookies,  from  across  the 
way.  The  stone  walls  on  Hawthorn  and  Allen 
streets  were  to  be  walked  on,  for  to  do  this  the 
next  day,  the  Sabbath,  would  have  been  desecra- 
tion. 

We  were  allowed  "freedom  of  worship''  in  ac- 
cord with  the  religious  liberty  preached  by  our 
ancestral  Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  imbibed  the  doc- 
trines of  Friends,  Trinitarians,  Methodists  and 
Unitarians.  Even  the  views  of  the  Seven  Day 
Baptists  and  Second  Adventists  were  assimilated. 
In  the  morning  of  the  First  Day  we  attended  the 
Friends'  Meeting,  and  had  we  known  then  the 
power  of  mental  telegraphy,  our  thought  waves 
would  have  been  centered  on  Josiah  Holmes  whom 
we  watched  so  closely  to  "break  up"  the  meeting. 
But  after  that  we  were  free  to  attend  any  de- 
nomination, and  our  choice  was  the  Trinitarian 
Church,  for  the  young  and  handsome  Mr.  Julien 
was  the  new  attraction  in  the  ministerial  field- 
especially  for  the  young  folks. 

The  Methodist  Episcopal  Sunday  School  under 
Fred  Washburn's  superintendency  was  always  in- 
viting, and  it  was  in  the  Methodist  school  that  the 
little  girl  recited  this  humorous  verse.  She  was 
a  little  tot  and  had  been  taken  by  an  older  brother 
to  his  own  class  of  boys.  The  boys  had  been  asked 


NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO  19 

by  the  teacher  each  to  recite  a  verse  of  scripture, 
and  then  she  turned  with  an  indulgent  smile  to 
the  little  girl  and  asked  if  she  had  one  to  say.  ' '  Oh 
yes,"  was  the  quick  response: 

"Monkey,    monkey,   bottle  of  beer, 
How  many   monkeys  have  we  here 
One,   two,   three,    four,   five," 

pointing  a  tiny  finger  at  each  laughing  boy.  This 
little  girl  had  been  attentively  studying  the  cata- 
logue of  library  books,  when  asked  what  book  she 
wanted,  replied  that  she  would  take  "The  Cat  on 
the  Log." 

Sensational  topics  for  sermons  were  used  even 
then,  in  those  good  old  days,  to  "draw";  this 
subject  was  advertised  by  a  Methodist  minister 
' '  Pious  lassitude  and  cowardice,  plus  a  blind  hug- 
ging of  a  mossy  past.''  Vesper  services  at  the 
Unitarian  Church  claimed  the  attendance  of  the 
young  people,  and  a  decorous  promenade  down 
County  street  to  our  homes  was  the  only  worldly 
indulgence  of  the  day. 


20  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    A  CO 

CHAPTER  II. 

SOME  OF  THE  HOMES  VISITED. 

OWN  on  South  Water  street  facing  the 
bay,  where  an  unobstructed  view  of  the 
harbor  and  incoming  ships  could  be  seen 
from  the  windows,  was  a  yellow  house 
with  green  blinds  built  by  Uncle  Peleg.  He  was 
a  sea  captain  and  had  a  great-coat,  buff  in  color 
with  large  bone  buttons,  which  he  wore  for  many, 
many  winters.  To  the  expostulation  of  his  chil- 
dren on  its  antiquated  appearance  he  answered 
that  he  had  observed  that  once  in  every  seven 
years  his  great-coat  was  the  top  of  the  style  and 
that  was  enough  to  suit  him!  His  saintly  wife 
survived  him  many  years,  twelve  of  which  were 
spent  in  total  blindness,  relieved  only  by  the 
faithful  ministrations  of  a  loving  daughter.  Look- 
ing into  those  sightless  eyes  and  patient  face  we 
children  learned  a  lesson  which  is  remembered  in 
these  later  years  when  the  temptation  comes  to 
complain  over  trivial  causes. 

Another  quiet  home  of  suffering  was  that  of 
Captain  John  Akin,  whose  wife,  Lucy  Akin, 
though  a  cripple  for  years,  even  at  the  age  of 
eighty  retained  her  bright  vivacious  manner  and 
girlish  laugh  which  were  charms  to  attract  us 
young  folks  as  frequent  visitors,  and  an  added 
attraction  was  the  savory  saucer-pies  of  pumpkin 
and  mince.  John  Akin  in  his  younger  days  had 
been  captain  of  a  packet  running  from  New  York 
to  New  Bedford  and  was  afterward  pilot.  In 
the  days  of  their  prosperity,  they  built  the  large 


NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO  21 

house,  corner  Bush  (now  Madison)  and  Seventh 
streets,  afterwards  purchased  by  Captain  John 
A.  Macomber  and  later  by  Mr.  Harrington.  But 
when  poverty  and  sickness  and  old  age,  that  tragic 
trio,  surrounded  them,  their  strength  of  character 
and  Christian  fortitude  shone  forth  clearly. 

Miss  Betsey  Winslow's  home  on  County  street 
was  always  an  attractive  place  with  its  fernery 
and  aquarium,  and  she  made  the  children  so  wel- 
come that  I  fear  we  rather  imposed  on  her  gener- 
ous hospitality.  Precious  gifts  we  bore  from 
there  of  tiny  white  snails,  but  these  had  a  fashion 
of  losing  themselves  before  our  happiness  as  their 
possessors  had  existed  a  day. 

A  place  where  we  found  a  cordial  welcome 
awaiting  young  people,  was  that  of  gentle  Nathan 
Reed.  He  was  a  fine  conversationalist.  His  mind 
was  stored  with  knowledge  of  the  events  in  the 
world  around  him,  and  with  recollections  of  his 
own  boyhood  days  in  New  Bedford  when  he  gath- 
ered huckleberries  in  the  meadows  just  west  of 
old  Third  street,  the  largest  and  finest  to  be  found 
anywhere.  He  loved  to  tell  of  his  coming  to  New 
Bedford  with  his  father  on  the  memorable  "Dark 
Day"  of  which  the  "Old  Farmers'  Almanack" 
bears  record.  When  the  stars  were  visible,  and 
the  birds  after  awakening,  returned  to  their  nests. 
He  was  one  of  "Nature's  noblemen''  with  a  con- 
scientious conviction  of  duty  to  his  country  and 
home,  and  his  children  were  proud  of  their  in- 
heritance. 

There  was  a  peppery  spinster  on  whom  we 
called  from  a  sense  of  duty  only,  for  she  always 
met  us  with  the  salutation;  "Well,  you've  really 


22  NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO 

come  at  last!"  or  "I  s'posed  you'd  forgotten  all 
about  me ! ' '  with  the  energetic  reminder  to  ' '  wipe 
our  shoes  clean  and  not  litter  up  the  place."  An 
odd  ornament  hung  on  the  wall  of  her  little  par- 
lor, and  its  history  explains  the  peculiarity  of 
this  queer  person.  At  the  marriage  of  a  friend, 
when  the  wedding-cake  boxes  were  distributed  to 
the  guests,  grim  fate  decreed  that  the  end  piece 
of  the  loaf  with  a  corner  of  the  frosting  broken 
off,  should  fall  to  her  share.  As  all  the  feminine 
world  knows,  wedding-cake  boxes  after  being  tied 
with  their  witching  bows  of  ribbon  are  all  iden- 
tical, but  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  and  the  logic 
of  Portia  combined,  could  not  have  made  this  ob- 
stinate lady  believe  that  a  slight  was  not  intended. 
So  she  had  a  deep  frame  made  to  fit  this  piece  of 
cake,  and  under  its  glass  covering  it  was  pre- 
served for  years  to  show  how  she  had  been  slight- 
ed at  So  and  So's  wedding. 

The  place  we  loved  most  to  visit  was  at  the 
dear  old  lady's,  in  a  peaceful  little  sitting-room, 
with  the  prim,  cool,  caned-seated  chairs  set  stiffly 
against  the  walls,  the  carpet  of  ingrain  in  subdued 
brown  shades,  the  polished  half -circular  mahog- 
any table  on  which  stood  boxes  of  richest  Chinese 
lacquered  ware,  tortoise  shell  ornaments,  and 
curious  flowers  made  from  daintily  colored  sea- 
shells,  and  kept  from  the  dust  under  a  glass  globe, 
all  brought  home  by  her  sailor  son.  It  was  always 
the  coolest  room!  The  August  sunshine  only 
flickered  through  the  dark  green  Venetian  blinds, 
and  its  tempered  rays  touched  the  painting  of  a 
small  boy  leaning  over  the  edge  of  a  pier,  pulling 
a  tiny  girl  in  a  pink  dress  from  the  water.  Yes, 


XKW    BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO  23 

that  was  her  Johnnie  rescuing  his  little  sister 
Mary  from  the  bay  at  Naushon,  and  in  the  row- 
boat  near  by  could  be  seen  the  red  apples  she  had 
reached  out  to  grasp. 

It  was  easy  to  lead  the  conversation  to  her  only 
son  John,  for  she  dearly  loved  to  talk  of  him.  The 
tragedy  had  come  to  her,  so  common  to  wives  in 
those  early  days  of  whaling,  when  to  have  a  sea- 
man's chest  carried  out  of  the  house  for  its  three 
years'  cruise,  was  a  sorrow  almost  as  harrowing 
as  if  it  had  been  a  coffin.  Her  two  brothers  and 
husband  had  been  drowned,  and  now  in  an  agony 
of  fear  that  her  one  boy  would  want  to  "follow 
the  sea,''  she  sent  him  at  twelve  years  of  age 
(1840)  to  a  boarding-school  at  Long  Plain  kept  by 
Ira  Leland,  a  Baptist  minister,  with  the  request 
tli  at  he  should  have  a  sharp  watch  on  John,  for 
she  feared  he  would  run  away  to  sea. 

And  run  away  he  did,  the  call  of  the  ocean  ever 
sounded  in  his  ears ;  the  lure  of  the  sea  ran  in  his 
veins.  His  mother  learned  that  John  was  seen  on 
the  docks  and  had  arranged  to  ship  with  the  cruel- 
est  captain  that  sailed  out  of  the  port  of  New 
Bedford.  Pleadingly  she  persuaded  him  against 
this,  but  only  with  the  promise  that  he  should  sail 
with  the  first  captain  known  to  her  as  kindly  in 
his  treatment  of  the  cabin  boy.  So  John  shipped 
as  a  sailor  at  thirteen  years  of  age.  The  official 
document  necessary  at  that  time  and  called  the 
"Protection  of  American  Seamen"  reads  that  h6 
was  four  feet  eleven  inches  in  height!  Such  a 
tiny  fellow  to  ship  for  a  three  years'  voyage  of 
hardship  and  peril!  Such  a  wee  little  "American 
seaman!" 


24  NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO 

To  follow  the  further  fortunes  of  John,  finds 
him  at  twenty,  first  mate  of  a  whaler;  then  for 
five  years  he  was  digging  gold  in  California  with 
the  "forty-niners.''  He  was  captain  of  the  mer- 
chant vessel  "John  JajT>'  plying  its  trade  be- 
tween New  York  and  China,  until  the  Civil  War, 
when  he  served  his  country  as  acting  ensign  in 
the  navy,  until  peace  was  assured,  when  he  settled 
down  to  merchant  life  in  the  citv  of  New  York. 


ALICIA   WAI; WICK   SLCMT.M 


("APT.     JOHN     AKIX     AND     HIS     AY  IKK.     l.l'CV     AKIN. 


XKW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO  2") 

CHAPTER  III. 
FREE  BIDES. 

HE  slogan  of  our  vacation  fun  was  "Free 
Rides ! ' '  No  mode  of  conveyance  was 
despised  with  the  one  exception  of  the 
charcoal  man's.  After  forty  years  I  can 
hear  his  raucous  call,  C-h-a-r-c-o-a-l !  That  he  was 
in  league  with  the  "Evil  One"  we  had  no  doubt, 
with  his  sooty  grin  and  eyes  of  fiendish  glitter 
through  the  grime!  Then,  too,  the  mysterious 
cabalistic  characters  he  made  on  the  back  of  the 
wood-house  door  fully  proved  his  alliance  with 
the  under  world.  Charcoal  could  then  be  bought 
for  six  or  eight  cents  a  basket  and  the  tally  kept 
on  the  wood-house  door  was  like  this : 


>KI 


Yes,  there  was  one  other  vehicle  for  which  we 
had  no  use.  The  soapfat  wagon  of  Zenas  Whitte- 
more!  Our  great  delight  was  the  low  hung  oil 
truck  that  we  could  sit  on  almost  as  easily  as  in  a 
chair  at  home,  or  so  we  thought,  until  the  sad  day 
when  we  missed  our  calculation  and  sat  splash- 
ingly  in  a  deep  puddle.  Mr.  Allen,  a  good  natured 
driver  for  the  "Tucker  and  Cunmaings''  Farm, 
would  stow  us  in  among  the  boxes  and  baskets  in 
his  delivery  wagon,  and  drive  us  a  whole  morning 
about  his  route.  Seth  Booth,  that  typical  Yankee, 
well-read,  a  good  talker,  shrewd  at  a  bargain,  with 
overalls  tucked  into  his  boot  tops,  twinkling  black 


26  NEW     BEDFORD    FIFTY     YEARS    AGO 

eyes,  and  iron-grey  hair,  had  the  shabbiest  of  an- 
cient carryalls  to  take  him  and  his  berries,  and 
eggs  and  milk,  to  and  from  his  bachelor  apart- 
ments far  out  on  Allen  street. 

But  we  never  disdained  a  proffered  ride,  nor 
with  Zelostes  Almy,  either,  who  lived  on  the  Horse 
Neck  Road  between  Akins  Corner  and  South 
Westport ;  and  a  weary  trudge  it  would  have  been 
returning  therefrom  but  for  the  kindly  ' ;  up-lif ts ' ' 
of  city-bound  farmers  who  tucked  us  in  with  other 
11  garden  sass."  My  earliest  childish  impression 
of  Zelostes  Almy  was  that  he  belonged  to  a  gang 
of  pirates  because  he  wore  gold  ear-rings  in  his 
ears!  How  I  wronged  the  kindly  old  soul,  who 
followed  the  peaceful  pursuit  of  serving  us  with 
the  sweetest  pats  of  butter  with  a  sheaf  of  wheat 
stamped  thereon,  and  the  snowiest  'of  pot-cheese 
and  fresh  eggs. 

Never  did  we  learn  the  name  of  the  kind  hearted 
cheery  old  pilot  of  the  ferry  boat  crossing  between 
New  Bedford  and  Fairhaven,  but  his  good  nature 
allowed  us  to  squeeze  into  the  pilot  house,  and 
many  a  placid  summer  afternoon  did  we  spend 
plying  back  and  forth  on  the  calm  Acushnet, 
" scot-free."  But  not  so  with  the  stage  ride  to 
the  Head  of  the  River!  With  Mr.  Hersom,  the 
stage  driver  with  the  fine  tenor  voice  with  which 
he  regaled  the  tedium  of  the  way,  it  was  "No  pay, 
no  ride."  So  we  denied  ourselves  sweet  German 
chocolate  and  lemon  sugar,  cream  cakes  from 
Richmond's  and  pickled  limes  and  John  Brown's 
bullets  to  pay  for  that  delightful  outing. 

The  schools  were  closed,  but  a  coterie  of  the 
William  Street  scholars  met  dailv  for  a  frolic  in 


NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO  27 

the  yard  of  the  Friends '  Meeting-  House  on  Spring 
and  Seventh  streets.  The  stalls  for  the  horses 
made  a  fine  hiding  place  in  "hide  and  seek,"  and 
the  nicknames  of  a  quartet  of  our  school  boy 
friends  figured  in  this  form  of  "counting  out": 

"Blue  eyes,  sweet  mouth, 

Stumpy,  Buck, 

0— U— T. 

Spells  out  goes  she ! ' ' 

Never  will  I  reveal  the  real  names  of  those  he- 
roes. One  is  a  lawyer  in  your  town,  another  a 
doctor  of  some  renown,  all  are  prosperous  and 
(also)  pudgy! 

There  were  excursions  to  watch  the  sunrise 
from  old  Fort  Phoenix  when  we  crawled  from  our 
beds  at  four  in  the  morning,  and  sunset  suppers 
on  the  great  rocks  there,  or  down  at  the  "Cove" 
on  the  Point  Road.  There  were  basket  parties, 
the  girls  supplying  toothsome  goodies,  which  the 
boys  cheerfully  carried  in  market  baskets.  Where 
now  would  you  find  a  youth  brave  enough  to  carry 
a  basket  on  his  arm  through  the. streets  of  Fair- 
haven  OD  a  summer  afternoon!  But  those  days 
were  before  Mr.  Rogers  had  boomed  the  little 
town  to  its  present  attractive  style;  then  it  was 
a  prim  and  prosaic  village,  whose  grass-grown 
streets  were  deserted  during  the  warm  August 
afternoons,  its  dwellers  indulging  in  afternoon 
naps.  Gay  sailing  and  rowing  parties  made  the 
river  ring  with  songs  and  girlish  laughter  and  as 
we  drifted  with  the  tide  we  listened  to  the 
rhythmic  thud  of  the  horses'  feet  going  over  the 


UUOD    L  rp  r\niY  t 
Y-  {ofZ  Z_  (.0 

28  NEW    BEDFORD    FIFTY    YEARS    AGO 

old  wooden  bridge.  That  sound,  wherever  heard, 
always  carries  me  back  in  spirit  to  dear  old  New 
Bedford. 


"To  the  good  old,  grand  old,  golden  days, 
To  the  davs  bevond  recall!" 


